What Happened to Benny?
by miss anony
Summary: Pre-Rent Fic Spanning Six Years: 1989 to Beginning of Musical. (Mostly) Benny's POV. Rated PG-13 for references to drug use, suicide, and language. Reader Discretion Advised. COMPLETE.
1. July 23, 1989: We Begin...

Disclaimer: Characters/Concepts property of Jonathan Larson  
  
"Everybody's got the right to their dreams" -Stephen Sondheim  
  
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July 23, 1989: My Old Man  
  
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It was always the same with him. "Follow your dreams," he'd say, as long as my dreams were his. A child should never have to bear the name of his father. It's one of those legacy things, like they think they can make up for all their mistakes in their life by pressing them upon their sons. He should have known better - his father did the same to him.  
  
So I was supposed to go to NYU just like him. Ever since I was a child it was always, "You're going to go to New York University just like your father and grandpa, aren't you? That's daddy's little man". I remember an excessive use of violet in my room decor as a child. He had the pendants and the matching sweatshirts. Christ, it was brainwashing. But the thing was that when it all came down to it and I got that acceptance packet in the mail, I seriously wanted to kill myself. I mean, it was his dream, not mine. Mark and I had planned the whole thing out. Brown University. Not too illustrious and just far enough away from home that we'd only have to visit during the holidays. I wanted to tear up that packet. Burn it. If I had gotten a rejection letter it would have been so much easier. True, I still would've let my old man down, but he could accept that I didn't get in. Instead, he couldn't fathom the idea that I simply didn't want to go.  
  
I remember the fight as if it was yesterday. He practically wanted to disown me. He yelled, and I yelled. But it wasn't so much the harsh words exchanged that I remember, it was the look in his eyes...the look of utter disappointment.  
  
So I had declared my independence. I didn't have to be like him or his father before him. I was a grown man, capable of making my own decisions. I had the scholarships and college fund savings. I didn't need him. It was my choice and I took great pride in that.  
  
But here I am two years later and giving in. He must have known I would. I couldn't stand the silence, my father's down cast eyes, the relatives, the rejection. Every person has his Achilles' heel and he was mine. I had to make him proud. Above all else, I needed his approval. So, I filed for a transfer to NYU and was accepted. Leonard N. Stern School of Business. Business school...go figure. And transferring is not the easiest task in the world. It was all part of his plan. He knew I'd cave. It was a test. A test that he won. This time. Mark calls me a sell-out. He's right. 


	2. 1989: But It's Nice to Dream

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August 1989: Letter 1  
  
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Dear Mom,  
  
I can't believe two years have gone by so fast. Benny's decided to subdue to Mr. Coffin's wishes and go to business school. He's enrolled at NYU next semester, which means he's moving back to New York. I've been invited to come along and frankly, I accepted. The truth is, I've had just about enough of college's excuse for a film program. How can you produce something worthwhile when you're limited to your professor's opinion and not allowed complete creative freedom? I mean seriously, if this is how it is supposed to be, then there should be no such thing as `art'.  
  
Tell dad `hi' for me and that I'm sorry if I've disappointed him again. I'll send you another letter with all the specifics when we're settled.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
************  
  
Coming Home  
  
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"New York City. I can't believe it."  
  
"You sound like a broken record, you know," I gruffly retorted over my shoulder. "You said that the minute we got off the plane." Mark had a tendency to repeat himself...and I had a tendency to point that detail out. I leaned down to the taxi window to pay the driver.  
  
"Well it's just so fucking unbelievable...you do so much to get out of a place, only to end up right back where you started." Mark adjusted his glasses and took in a deep breath. "So when you said shit-hole, you really meant it, didn't you?"  
  
I glanced up at the old rundown quasi-apartment building that I had intended to call home. "Well, it's not like there's too many choices you know. I need to put myself through school while supporting a college dropout." I smirked at Mark, but he appeared to brush it off like nothing.  
  
"So I'll get a job. I can take a hint." He picked up his luggage while I fiddled for the key. Frankly I was surprised he had gone through two years of college. He was one of those kids whose sole reason for going was because `it's what you're supposed to do after high school'. Just playing the game I guess.  
  
"The buzzer for the door doesn't work, so we'll just have to throw the key down to each other from the window until I get a spare made." Mark looked at me like I was insane. "Unless you want to walk down and back up the stairs to let each other in. I hope you've been taking your vitamins," I teased, "We've got the honeymoon suite - top floor."  
  
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The Apartment  
  
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"I never realized how out of shape I was until this moment," Mark huffed. "It didn't look that tall from outside." He dropped his bags in a pile on the floor and slowly panned the room, which didn't take very long, given that there wasn't much room to pan. It wasn't much, but it was going to have to do. I wasn't given much financial aid or input when it came to finding us a place to stay. And I wasn't about to ask for help from my parents. What did I know about real estate anyway? "Okay. That's it then." I could tell Mark wasn't very impressed, but he was going to have to deal. "Where's the bathroom?"  
  
"It's through that door," I pointed to the door directly next to us. "There's a toilet and a sink. The shower's over there by the kitchen."  
  
"Wait, shouldn't that be in the bathroom?" I couldn't help but snicker at Mark. That was exactly what I thought when I picked the place.  
  
"This used to be a music publishing factory. Factories don't have showers, or kitchens for that matter. They were added later. It's not like we need the excessive privacy anyway. We grew up together and all. It's cheap, that's what matters." He should be happy that we even had rooms. Well technically they used to be offices, but it wasn't a big deal. First thing first was to find a refrigerator.  
  
"Umm, sure. As long as it has a curtain, I guess." With that, Mark trotted off to the broom-closet of a bathroom.  
  
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November 1989: Letter 2  
  
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Dear Mom,  
  
It's been a few months and we finally pretty much have the apartment settled in. It's a bit below our usual standard of living but we'll make due. After all, we are young, newly born twenty-somethings with our whole life ahead of us. At least that's what people say.  
  
Benny's been going to classes at NYU and I've been working a few odd jobs so I don't have to completely depend on the money you send me for bills and stuff. We may even be getting a new roommate, which will help cut costs a little. Benny met a really nice grad student at the university that's looking for a place. His name is Tom but he keeps insisting that we call him Collins. At first I thought it was a joke because all I could think of was the drink...no mom, I haven't been drinking.  
  
I've started working on a video project. Benny probably supports yours and dad's view that I'm crazy, but I have faith in it. We'll see where it goes. I'll send you our phone number once we set-up a phone line. Hope all is well at home.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark 


	3. 1990: We Raise Our Glass

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January 1990: Bohemian  
  
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"So this is it. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but we're working on it." I shut the door behind Collins. Personally, I thought he was going to instantly walk out the door and call the whole thing off. I mean, what was I thinking? Who'd want to live here? Well, besides Mark and I.  
  
"No, I kind of like it," Collins said to my surprise. "It has that whole bohemian, starving artist vibe going."  
  
"Bohemian? That's an island, isn't it?" Mark interjected.  
  
"Well, yes, Bohemia," I began trying to show-off, "But it's also a state-of-being per say that describes a certain type of people..."  
  
"A state-of-being? More like a way of life!" Collins started laughing at us, "Boys, boys, boys, have I got some things to teach you."  
  
"So how'd the two of you meet exactly?" Mark seemed to still be trying to warm-up to the idea of having another roommate. We had sat down and talked about it and he had a good first impression that Collins was a great guy, but Mark was always the shyer one of the two of us and whatever I said, he'd still take his time getting to really know someone. Maybe his method worked to his advantage in the long run. I'd make the friends and he'd keep them.  
  
"Well," Collins began, "I approached Benny because we kept running into each other around campus..."  
  
"You were going to hit on me..."  
  
"No I wasn't..." He shoved me.  
  
"Oh, yes you were!" I shoved him back. "I saw that look of disappointment when you started talking to me..."  
  
"Well, I'm usually pretty good at picking guys out but I guess I was a little off when it came to you."  
  
"I...You know, I'm not even going to touch that..." I turned to notice Mark, completely washed over. "Umm, so that's going to be your room over there and Mark and I are going to share this one. We were roommates at Brown, so we're used to it."  
  
"Okay, I'll go take a look around then." Collins walked over to the other side of the apartment.  
  
I leaned over to Mark, "I didn't tell you, Collins is gay. You're going to be okay, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah, it just caught me a little off-guard is all," Mark whispered back. I knew he'd be fine with it thanks to our liberal upbringings, I just wanted to make sure since I noticed his odd reaction. What I failed to notice though was that Collins had circled back around behind us.  
  
"Besides, it's not like you're my type anyway," he said with a smile.  
  
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November 1990: Voice Mail 1  
  
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Hi, you've reached the boho boys. Leave a message. *BEEP*  
  
"Mark? Sweetie? I hope this is the right number you gave me. What's a boho? Is it like the clown or something? Anyhoo, it's Mom. Just wanted to wish my pumpkin a happy birthday. Happy Birthday honey! Don't go doing anything tonight your mother wouldn't approve of. I can't believe my little baby's all grown up now. Send Benny my love too. We miss you! Love, Mom."  
  
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Drinking Games  
  
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"Aww, come on Mark. We've got to take you out. It's like an unwritten law!" I whined at Mark. I wasn't one for groveling but I loved to see how it made him squirm. It always worked growing up.  
  
"Unwritten law my ass! It's not like anybody even pays attention to the drinking laws nowadays so turning twenty-one is no big deal! Bars are yours and Collins' thing. You two just want an excuse to go get drunk." He was right. Collins and I were pretty prone to discovering random occasions that involved us ending up in a local pub. That was what being young was all about, right?  
  
"He's right Mark," Collins grinned slyly, "We've got to do it. It's just how it is. Think of it as a chance for some good old-fashioned male bonding. Come on!" Collins grabbed Mark's arm and stood him up, literally dragging him to the door.  
  
"I am so going to regret this..." Mark muttered under his breath.  
  
I grabbed our coats and followed. This was going to be one hell of a night. 


	4. 1991: Living in America

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March 1991: Letter 3  
  
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Dear Mom,  
  
You don't have to call everyday. I'm okay. Your little boy can take care of himself. Sorry, I haven't written for a while - I figured a letter every few months would be adequate. So what have we been up to? I guess we've just been doing what guys our age do. Collins finished graduate school a few months ago and since then has been working so he's not around as much as he used to be. We're really proud of him because he worked his pants off to get that P.H.D. Come to think of it, Benny's been busy finishing up his last remaining units for his graduation so I haven't been seeing him much either. So I guess it's more like I've been busy doing what I do. I've been going out from time to time trying not to be a complete hermit in the apartment while still working on my film. I guess there's nothing much else to talk about. Life's been kind of dull lately. Hope things are more eventful at home.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
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Star Wars and Screenplays  
  
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"Wait. Say that again," Mark scrambled for a pen and paper. "I want to write that down."  
  
"Why?" I gave Mark the most annoyed looking face I could muster and leaned back in my chair. "This isn't for one of your screenplays again, is it? What's the plot this time?"  
  
"I'm not quite sure yet. It's still a work in progress." Mark started scribbling down some words from memory.  
  
"It's always a work in progress," I grunted. "By the time you finish, it's going to be the longest movie ever made!"  
  
Mark laughed. "I doubt I could top `The Cure for Insomnia'."  
  
"What's that?" Collins inquired. Great, he's fueling Mark's fire. I could swear he enjoys watching us squabble.  
  
"A really long movie. Clocked in at eighty-five hours."  
  
Collins chuckled. "Clever. Why do you know that shit?" he edged on with an impressed look on his face.  
  
"I dunno. That's just how my mind works. I read it in a book way back when." Mark motioned to a large stack on the floor. We've got to invest in a bookshelf. Or at least some plywood and cinder blocks.  
  
"Yeah, this is the kid that used to make me memorize scenes from `Star Wars' and re-enact lightsaber battles at the YMCA." I had to put my two cents in to see what kind of reaction I could get out of him.  
  
"Oh, you know you were a big fan too," Mark blushed. Two points for me. "Now how did you put that again, Benny?" I shrugged and picked up the Village Voice, trying to act disinterested. "No, tell me!"  
  
"Well first you tell me what this piece of work of yours is about. If I'm in it, I have the right to know."  
  
"I told you I don't quite know yet. Some comedy. Some drama. A love story maybe? People. Life. It's a little complicated."  
  
"Hopefully not too complicated." I turned a page of the paper. "You know the intellect and attention span of movie-goers today."  
  
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June 1991: The Future of America  
  
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"I did it! I'm a college graduate. Look at that, will you?" I held up my diploma for Mark and Collins to see. "So this is it, huh? It's all downhill from here."  
  
"Well I beg to differ," Collins interjected. "I'm quite happy being part of the working-class of America. Who says that a college degree doesn't mean anything nowadays?"  
  
"Well maybe that's because what you do could actually make an impact," said Mark, "At the rate I'm going, I'd be better off dead." Why did Mark have a habit of inserting film titles into everyday speech? Or maybe he didn't mean to and it just goes to show his influence on me. I tried to wipe images of John Cusack and the eighties from my head.  
  
"Oh, stop saying that. You'll finish your film someday." I slapped Mark on the back and gave him a smile. Maybe I didn't fully believe what I said but Mark needed the encouragement.   
  
"Well being in your twenties suck. It's that whole `find yourself' age and I don't feel like looking." Mark could be so negative sometimes to the point of being annoying. He was probably just jealous - jealous that I actually stuck with it instead of his sorry dropout self. Of course I'd never say that to his face...  
  
"So what do you say about us going out and celebrating?" Collins winked at me.  
  
"Oh no..." Mark stood up from the couch and made a beeline straight to his room. Let the groveling begin.  
  
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November: Mommie Dearest  
  
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"You're back!" Mark was greeted by a smiling Collins. Nonetheless, even Collins' goofy grin could not heighten Mark's mood.  
  
"So I am." Mark plopped himself down in a chair.  
  
"So, how'd it-"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it" Mark snapped. He hated job interviews. The anxiety before actually going was enough but then the afterthought of every stupid answer he gave could sour him for hours. He had put off even the notion of looking for a job out of fear of rejection and probably never would have bothered if it wasn't for his want for more money and the underlying pressure from his parents...but more so, the guilt from himself.  
  
In an attempt to lighten the storm cloud that had entered the once sunny room, Collins piped up. "Your mother called..."  
  
"You talked to my mother?" Just what Mark needed. Big Brother was watching him.  
  
"She said that she wants you to come home for Thanksgiving. I told her that you'd call her back."  
  
"You did what???"  
  
"She said that you wouldn't want to. She said that ever since you were a little boy that you always-"  
  
"How long did you talk to her for?"  
  
"I dunno, a good half an hour or more. She just went on and on-"  
  
"That's why you don't answer the phone. She always does this! I've told her not to talk to my friends."  
  
"She was very nice. You should call her more often."  
  
"But all she does is talk! She doesn't know when to quit. That's why I send her those stupid letters because at least then she leaves me alone awhile and I don't have to have an actual conversation. It's not that I don't love her...it's just so annoying! Especially when she starts telling people things about me that I'd rather them not know about. I mean, does she really think that-"  
  
The phone rang and Mark stopped abruptly with wide-eyes almost screaming out, `How does she know?'. Collins motioned over to the phone but Mark shook his head frantically. Almost comically they continued this routine for three more rings of the phone until Collins grabbed the receiver much to Mark's dismay.  
  
"Hello?" Collins held out the phone in Mark's direction. "It's for you..." 


	5. 1992: To Riding Your Bike

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April 1992: A Breath of Fresh Air  
  
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"I met someone. She's smart and funny and beautiful...my father would hate her."  
  
"Why, she doesn't sound all that bad," Mark grimaced at me and he had the right to. It wasn't a common experience to see me that euphoric. "She must really be something," he said, "I don't think I've seen you this happy since we got on that plane to Providence." I noticed him lean to grab his camera to immortalize the moment.  
  
"Well, she's not exactly what my parents had in mind for me," I began, "I mean, they always wanted me to end up with some stable, well-educated homebody from a good family background, you know, like my mom. But April isn't that. She's a free spirit. And I love that." I turned deliberately towards the camera, "Did you hear that dad? I love that!"  
  
"Well, you better introduce us to this April-girl then," Collins entered the conversation.  
  
"I intend to." I started rocking on my heels. I had had girlfriends before, but this was different. In fact, she technically wasn't even my girlfriend yet, but I was certain I'd take care of that minor detail as soon as possible. I couldn't wait to see my father's face. I could feel myself grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"So how'd you meet her?" Collins snapped me back into reality.  
  
"Oh, well, I was on my way to a job interview this afternoon, minding my own business, when she nearly ran me over on her bicycle. That's her job right now..."  
  
"What? Running over well-dressed men on the sidewalk?" Collins let out a big laugh and Mark immediately joined him.  
  
"No, no, no. She's a bike messenger." Frankly, I didn't see how that was funny.  
  
Mark struggled to speak, "Does she look like Kevin Bacon?"  
  
Collins immediately stopped laughing. "Wha...what?"  
  
"'Quicksilver'," Mark stammered, shifting uncomfortably. "It was a movie. He was a bike messenger...I'll go get back in my cage now..." Mark walked over to the couch like a struck dog, exchanging his camera for one of his screenplays.  
  
Now that was funny.  
  
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May 1992: Letter 4  
  
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Dear Mom,  
  
How's everything going at home? Tell dad `hi' for me. Oh, and next time you talk to Cindy, give her my love too. So what's been going on in my life? I guess nothing particularly interesting. Benny met someone. He says she's everything he ever wanted in a girl and everything his father wouldn't. I think he just likes to say that. But he does seem happy. Everything's looking up in the world for him. Fresh out of college and he's found himself a job and a girlfriend. Now before you say anything about it, I have been looking through the classifieds again. It's not my fault that most of the jobs I get are only temporary. I'm working on it. Don't worry about me.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
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June 1992: The Ideals He Once Pursued  
  
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"So what do you want to do with your life?" April lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her arms tucked behind her head. She had moved in a little over a week ago and settled in beautifully with Mark and Collins. Just another reason for me to admire the girl.  
  
I sat down on the edge of the bed with my shoes in my hand. "I don't know...I've got a business degree, I've got a job. Just like what my father wanted..." I leaned down to tie my shoe.  
  
She rolled over onto her side and propped her head on her hand. "But what do you want?"  
  
"To be happy? I don't know...who really knows..."  
  
"Well, I'll tell you what I want...I want to live. When I get enough money, I'm going to travel, see the world. That's what I want. Not to spend more then I have to in any single place." She sat up on the bed as if to emphasize her point as dramatically as possible. "Adventure! The wind in my hair and not a care in the world. Like riding my bike with my eyes closed. That's the beauty of being young. I have my whole life ahead of me. The possibilities are endless!" She was always the optimist, dreaming up these little fantasies of hers. Maybe that's why I loved her so much. She could really make you believe. We had had this conversation before and every time she gave a different answer. She'd discover the cure for cancer, she'd run a marathon, she'd go swimming with the dolphins...it was always something beautifully ambitious.  
  
I leaned back on my hands and looked deep into her brown eyes. "Okay, I'll tell you what. When Mark and I were young we used to joke about having our own studio someday. Well, maybe to him it was a joke, but I always believed it. More recently I've been thinking about it again. It was supposed to be a place where he could work on his movie mumbo-jumbo and at the time, me play with my video games. I was a real game nut growing up, kind of geeky in retrospect, but every kid's got his thing. But now it's different. Something with computers...or this Internet thing. It's growing, you know, it's the future. And I want to be a part of it. That's what I want. To be my own boss. No more of this doing what other people want. Doing what I want. I want the American Dream." 


	6. 1992: Leave Your Conscience at the Tone

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July 1992: Voice Mail 2  
  
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Hi, you've reached Collins, Mark, April, and Benny's. Please leave your name and phone number and we'll get back to you. And if you're one of my students, please include your student ID number. Thank you. *BEEP*  
  
"Mark, honey? It's mom again. I talked to your father. He says he has a colleague that maybe you could talk to. It's not that we don't support you in your whole movie thing; we just want what's best for you. We love you regardless. You have your father's work phone number. Call him. Love, Mom."  
  
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September 1992: Which Way to Nowhere  
  
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"Benny, we need to talk about where this is going."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean our relationship...I just feel like it's..."  
  
"Not really going anywhere?"  
  
"Wait, you feel the same way?"  
  
"Well, sort of, and that's why I think that what we..." I was cut-off.  
  
"Well, good. Now that I know you feel the same way, this is going to be a lot easier." Don't say it...don't say it... "I think we should break-up." She said it...shit.  
  
"Break up? Well, I wasn't meaning that we should end it, I was thinking more along the lines that we should..." She put her fingers on my lips and stopped me. She knew I didn't want it to be over-over, I wanted more, but maybe the more was what was scaring her. Frankly, our relationship had flatlined. Nothing I could say was going to change that fact. I felt my heart breaking into a thousand pieces but I wasn't going to show it. "Yeah, maybe you're right."  
  
"I mean, we're young and we should be trying all our options. I think that we would be better off if we were just friends. We can still be friends, right? Because I really value that..." There it was. The kiss of the death. That stupid line that males everywhere dreaded. I felt like I was on some cheesy high-school sitcom.  
  
"Umm, okay..." At least if we were friends I could hang on to that small inking of hope that one day we may realize the mistake we made and get back together. Wait, who was I kidding? It was over. I wasn't supposed to be the hopeless romantic/idealistic type. That was Mark's deal. I could handle this. Friends are good. I could find another girl. I was good at finding girls...but not like this one...  
  
"Good. Thanks sweetie." She kissed me on my cheek and was gone. That was the weirdest thing. Hold on...does that count as being dumped? I don't get dumped. Wait a second...  
  
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October 1992: Letter 5  
  
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Dear Mom,  
  
Benny and April broke up but they both say it was a mutual thing so there were no hard feelings. It's all fine and good I guess because we're all friends and I would really hate it if I had to choose sides. At first April wanted to move out, but Benny insisted that she stay, so they worked it out. It doesn't seem healthy to me though. In a way I think it would have been better for them just to yell and curse and ignore each other when they passed on the street then to sit around the apartment and pretend that they never had more then a friendly relationship to begin with. But then again, what do I know about relationships? I've never been that serious with anybody.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
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Voice Mail 3/Frustrations  
  
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Hey, you've reached Mark, Benny, Collins, and April's. Leave a message and we'll get back to you. Thanks. *BEEP*  
  
"Hi honey. It's me, your mother. I got your letter in the mail today and I was just thinking, remember Nanette Himil..."  
  
"Mark, what the heck are you doing to the phone?" Mark looked up to find Collins hovering over him. He had yanked it abruptly out of the wall, making a mess of the cord, and the wall plaster for that matter, and then thrown it across the room.  
  
"Umm...nothing, it's broken..." 


	7. 1993: First Shot Roger

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February 1993: Nametag  
  
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Mark had decided that he couldn't get any work done at home, so he packed up his papers and headed off to The Life Cafe. He could always get some work done there. He scrounged in his pocket for some money. Thirteen cents. Unlucky thirteen. That wouldn't get him anything. He decided he'd just sit there until they kicked him out. Maybe they wouldn't even notice he wasn't a paying customer. It was late anyway. It wouldn't be like they were busy or anything and needed the table. He entered the restaurant and made a beeline straight for a secluded corner. This was good. He could finally get some work done.  
  
"What's that you're working on?"  
  
Mark's concentration was interrupted by a female voice. "Oh, it's just some stuff I've been keeping busy with for a couple years now. I'm an aspiring filmmaker."  
  
"We're all aspiring somethings in this town, aren't we? So can I get you anything?"  
  
"No, I'm good. Thanks though." He glanced at her nametag. "Maureen. Thanks Maureen." She smiled.  
  
"Well, just tell me if you need anything."  
  
************  
  
Someone New  
  
************  
  
"Well he's a bartender. And in his free-time he plays the guitar in a local band."  
  
Already this was sounding bad. Bartender + Guitar + Band = sleazy, egocentric junkie with long, oily messed-up hair, dressed in dirty, ripped clothes surrounded by a cloud of smoke with drunk or high groupie-girls draped all over him all in the name of punk rock and good beer. I couldn't shake the image. "Oh, well that sounds interesting," I said.  
  
"You already don't like him. Benny, you can't judge a guy you don't even know."  
  
"I wasn't judging. Did I say something judgmental?" I protested. It had only been a month and she was already back on the dating bandwagon. I couldn't believe it.  
  
"Well, it wasn't what you said so much as you're tone." She was right. I didn't quite say it very supportive and reassuring. Was I so wrong to want to protect her? I mean, was this guy really going to be good enough for her? Maybe I was turning into the jealous ex-boyfriend, determined to sabotage every relationship she would ever have out of the vain hope that we might get back together. No, we discussed this. It was over between us. We parted on good terms and chose to maintain an adult relationship about it.  
  
"Well, I want you and the guys to meet him. I already talked to Mark and Collins. We're going to The Continental. Roger's working there tonight."  
  
I fidgeted. "Tonight? No, I don't think I can make it. I've got work to do." So I lied. I just wasn't ready yet. How'd she get into a relationship so fast?  
  
Maybe this `friends'-thing wasn't going to work out.  
  
***********  
  
Mixed Drinks  
  
***********  
  
Tom Collins:  
  
1 shot gin  
Sour mix  
Splash of soda water  
Garnish: Cherry and orange slice  
  
Shake gin and sour mix with ice, then add soda water. Garnish.  
  
The club was packed and Mark immediately remembered why he hated places like that. You could smell the alcohol, the sweat. It brought back deeply rooted memories of visions of swirling toilet water and jackhammers banging on his head, a constant reminder of the aftermath of `living it up'. But no matter how much he protested he always found himself tagging along. He much rather preferred his quiet corner in The Life Café where he could sit with his cup of tea and work on his screenplays. Besides, the waitress there was hot and really nice to him.  
  
"He's right over there!" April smiled across the room and waved. "I'll introduce you." She was talking really loud to overpower the music and Mark could still barely hear her. At least he had Collins to keep him company. They made their way over to the bar, pushing and shoving through the crowd.  
  
"Hey baby," April screamed, leaning over to kiss the young man behind the counter. "These are two of my roommates. One couldn't make it."  
  
"Hi," Roger said, preoccupied with mixing drinks. They all stood there not knowing what to say next. Collins broke their silence.  
  
"April, I have to go to the bathroom."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Where's the bathroom?"  
  
"Oh, it's right over...here, I'll show you...I'll be right back." They made off through the crowd again, leaving Mark leaning against the bar.  
  
"So you must be Mark," Roger said barely audibly.  
  
"And you must be Roger." Mark was very good at stating the obvious.  
  
"Yeah," Roger mixed another drink. "$4.50," he said to a customer. "Who was the other guy? Was that Benny?"  
  
Mark strained his ears, "No, that was Collins. Tom Collins."  
  
"You want a Tom Collins?" Roger asked confused.  
  
"Oh, no. That's his name. Collins"  
  
"Oh..." Roger started chuckling and Mark immediately joined him. He had made the same mistake way back when.  
  
"What are you two laughing about?" Collins voice interrupted the moment.  
  
"Nothing. Cheers man," Roger smiled raising an empty glass in Collins' direction. Mark buckled over laughing harder then before.  
  
"Well it doesn't seem like nothing," April grinned sitting down on a barstool. "I guess the two of you really hit it off while we were gone."  
  
*******************  
  
The Smiley-Blond Kid  
  
*******************  
  
I staggered out of my room in a half-awake stupor on my way to the bathroom, as was my normal routine for a Sunday morning. But something didn't feel right; someone else was in the room. I turned around to notice some guy sitting on the couch staring at me.  
  
The unidentified male spoke, "Morning."  
  
"Uhh, morning..." I muttered out confused and then promptly turned and walked straight into Mark and Collin's room closing the door behind me. "Mark, wake up," I whispered, jostling the body under the covers.  
  
"What?" Mark barely stammered out with his eyes closed. Neither of us were morning people but the shock of some random guy making himself at home in our living room had woken me up.  
  
"There's some dude out on the couch," I hissed. No response. "Mark?" Again I started poking annoyingly at my sleeping friend.  
  
"Go back to bed, Benny..."  
  
"Mark, who's the smiley-blond kid?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, must be Roger...you know, April's Roger..."  
  
"Wait, the bartender guy?" All I got in response was a snore.  
  
*****************  
  
Not What I Expected  
  
*****************  
  
"Umm...Hi again," I quipped as I slid back out of Mark and Collin's room.  
  
"Hey..." Roger said not looking up. "What is all this crap?" Roger had been thumbing through some of Mark's screenplays strewn around the makeshift coffee table.  
  
"I don't think he'd want you reading those," I said, tugging one out of Roger's hands and still eyeing him like some foreign species, the likes I had never seen before.  
  
"Jeez man, I didn't mean anything by it." Roger put his hands up defensively and reached for his jacket. "April told me that I could crash here. We were all out pretty late last night. But I guess she should've gotten your approval first." He rose, mimicking my expression to a `t'. Cheeky bastard. It was one of those uncomfortable showdown moments, old boyfriend versus new, but then again, I was willing to bet Roger didn't even know who I was.  
  
"Where is April anyway?" I snapped.  
  
"Shower," Roger muttered, sitting back down on the couch. My thoughts had been so pre-occupied by the intruder that I hadn't even realized the sound of running water.  
  
"Oh, okay." I backed towards my and April's room and went inside. That was awkward. He wasn't quite what I expected, or more over hoped he was, but there still wasn't any way I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Moments later I faintly heard voices through the door.  
  
"Come on, let's go. I don't think I'm very welcome here." "Why would you say that?" "I'll tell you about it later, come on." "Okay, just let me go get dressed..."  
  
The door swung open and in stepped April with a towel around her torso and her hair dripping down her exposed shoulders. What was she doing? I leaned over to see if I could still see Roger through the doorway. I almost felt the urge to throw a sheet around her, but resisted. "Benny," she sighed the minute we made eye contact, closing the door behind her. She immediately began fumbling around for some clothes while I sat on the bed watching. Finally, she settled on some jeans and a t-shirt. "Turn around," she said.  
  
"Why? It's not like I haven't seen you naked." And apparently the same goes for someone else...  
  
"Just do it," she groaned again like her patience was being tested. I complied. "Did you say something to Roger?" I could hear her pulling up her pants and struggling with the buttons.  
  
"Not really...sort of...I said hi?"  
  
"That it?"  
  
"More or less." I knew she didn't believe me. She knew me better than that. But I wasn't one to openly admit to my mistakes, at least not to anyone other than myself.  
  
"I don't believe you. At times you are the nicest guy and then at others you have the demeanor of a snake. And your skin's been getting a lot thicker lately..." I heard the door open and close behind me. What did she mean by that? And since when did April start using my trick of getting the last word by leaving the room? 


	8. 1993: Will He Get Out of Here Alive?

**************************  
  
March 1993: A Separate Peace  
  
**************************  
  
"So how's it coming?" Maureen slinked her way over to Mark's table and leaned against the booth, coffee pot in hand.  
  
"It's not. I've been having kind of a mental block lately." Mark put down his pencil and ruffled his hair lightly.  
  
"Really? Not a brilliant little Scorsese like you."  
  
"It's just this friend of mine." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I feel like we're growing apart. It's like he's moving forward and I'm just running in circles. One time when we were young, he told me I was his best friend. I didn't say anything. I just stared at the sky as if I didn't hear him. It wasn't like he wasn't my friend, I just never really thought about being `best' friends with anybody. Does that make sense?" He slipped his frames back on and stared up at her.  
  
"Well sure it does," she said with a sideways smile, not really paying attention to him so much as her nails. "So are you going to ask me out already?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, every night I work you come in here with all your papers and camera and all and then sit at this same table and pretend like you're not watching me. Then I come over and ask you if you want anything and you strike-up some conversation to get me to stay."  
  
"Oh, umm...well..." Mark straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. "Uhh...I..."  
  
"I get off tomorrow at two. I'll see you then." She tapped his nose with her finger and walked off leaving Mark stunned and his jaw on the floor.  
  
*******  
  
Letter 6  
  
*******  
  
Dear Mom,  
  
You might be happy to know that I met someone. Her name's Maureen. She's a waitress, but she's aspiring for more. It all came as kind of a shock to me. I had seen her around for a long time and we got along really well and then one day, she became my girlfriend.  
  
In other news, April's been seeing someone. His name is Roger and he's a really nice guy. Benny's been trying to act like he doesn't care but I think he's a little jealous. I thought it would be hard on him seeing her everyday - especially now that she's with someone else. He's become really devoted to his work now. Probably keeps his mind off of other things.  
  
Speaking of work, I've had a new burst of inspiration for my project. I'm really excited about it.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
************  
  
Musical Chairs  
  
************  
  
So Mark's got a girlfriend and I got a new roommate. Everyone's getting some action but me. Mark's got Maureen. April's got Roger. And Collins, well...scratch that. All the two of us do is eat, sleep, and go to work. Not that work is all that bad.  
  
Maureen's a real firecracker. Knows what she wants and devotes herself to getting it. I don't even know what she sees in Mark but I guess every girl's got a soft spot for the good boy. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was using him to get back at someone else. Then again, I guess it's a prerequisite that every first time director has a pretty face run him into the ground. They moved really fast. Went out a couple of times and she moved in. That was it. So I moved my and April's stuff to Collins' and Mark's room and Mark moved to my old room so he and Maureen could have the larger bed and Collins got shifted to the couch. Talk about musical chairs. Technically though, Collins has April's bed since she seems to be spending more and more time at Roger's place. Nonetheless, it still seems to feel pretty crowded here, yet empty at the same time.  
  
So back to the diva. Well I guess she's an inspiring actress/performance artist something or other. More like a wannabe-princess who didn't get the memo that the Middle Ages are over. I'm trying to put up with it, but I think I'm doing as well as she's been putting up with me. Sometimes she can be cute with all that pouting she does at Mark. But if she talks about Patti Smith one more time, I swear I'm going to have to strangle her. Come to think of it, that's probably why she's with Mark - the whole drama queen in need of her director. "Alright Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up." At least he spends more time filming her reading his muddled scripts then the rest of us. Collins says she's his muse. I think she has the poor boy wrapped around her little finger.  
  
********************  
  
June 1993: Voice Mail 4  
  
********************  
  
Hi, you've reached Maureen and Mark's...oh, and Collins, Benny and April's. Don't know how you did it, but apparently you called when all of us are out. Leave us a message! Ciao! *BEEP*  
  
"Hi honey, it's me, your mother. Guess what? Cindy's pregnant again. At least one of you is giving me grandchildren. You really should visit sometime. Michael's walking now. He misses his Uncle Marky. We all do. How's Fourth of July weekend sound? Call us! Love, Mom." 


	9. 1993: It's the End and I'm Alone

***************************  
  
December 1993: A Cry For Help  
  
***************************  
  
"Benny...we need to talk." April sat down on the couch like a girl at Sunday school and began fiddling with her nails in her lap. I could tell by her bit lip it was something important. She wouldn't look at me.  
  
"April, what's wrong?" I said, trying to be as sympathetic as I could manage, which was rather awkward for me. She sat there awhile staring at her hands before she softly spoke. Her hands. I didn't remember them being so thin and frail looking. They were shaking.  
  
"Well if someone was to know about something that someone close to them didn't...something big...something bad...and it concerned both of them...do you think they'd be able to get through it together? Or do you think the other person would blame them for ruining their life?" She was being very cryptic. I didn't like that. What was she trying to tell me?  
  
"Jesus, April, you're not pregnant, are you?" I blurted out, "Because we haven't been together since, well you know, and we were safe. You didn't tell Roger, right?" Wait...maybe she should tell Roger, that could break them up...It was just a little fling. She had come home after having a fight with him and one thing led to another...but that was months ago... "I mean, if Roger knew you weren't being honest with him, he'd be very upset," I started rambling, "But then again, honesty would be to tell him, but then he'd probably still leave you high and dry anyway. I mean that's the kind of thing that destroys a guy. It'd be like a death sentence...to your relationship, you know. Either way you'd kill him." Maybe that didn't come out right, but talking about babies made me nervous...especially if it involved me. I turned back towards her. She looked like she was crying.  
  
"No, I'm not pregnant Benny." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Besides, if I was, I don't think I'd tell you...you'd much rather put up with a dog then a baby." Well, that was reassuring. What was bothering her then?  
  
"So what'd you want to tell me?"  
  
"It's just that...never mind. Goodbye Benny." She stood up, grabbed her purse, and with a glance, headed out the door.  
  
*******************  
  
Voice Mail 5/It's Over  
  
*******************  
  
The phone rings.  
  
Happy Holidays from Maureen, Mark, Collins, Benny, and April!...*click*  
  
The phone rings.  
  
Happy Holidays from Maureen, Mark, Collins, Benny, and April! Leave a message and we'll get back to you! Oh, and if you're doing your holiday shopping, I'm a size six! *BEEP*  
  
After a drawn-out pause:  
  
"Umm...hi. It's Roger." *pause* "We're...I'm at the hospital." *pause* "It's April, she..."  
  
Another long pause followed by the click of the receiver.  
  
************************  
  
It Only Hurts When I Breathe  
  
************************  
  
Mark entered the hospital not knowing what to expect. He had come straight from the apartment after hearing the message on the answering machine. Hopefully, this was the right hospital - Roger wasn't one for detail unless it concerned his music. He hated hospitals - the look, the smell, the way the hospital beds could make anyone look so much older. He remembered sitting for hours upon hours just staring at the drip from the bag of Potassium Chloride over his grandfather's head. Something bad must have happened. An accident. He hoped April was okay. Where to go? He headed towards the emergency waiting room.  
  
In the corner sat Roger, at least what Mark thought was Roger. He hadn't seen the guy or April for that matter in a few months ever since she started staying at his place. He looked like a shell of the man Mark had first met at the bar. Something really bad had happened. He sat down in the chair next to him.  
  
"Hey." No response. "I got the message. How is she? She doing okay?"  
  
"Who?" Roger turned his head slightly in Mark's direction. "Oh, umm...no...she died."  
  
Mark started to laugh in disbelief. "What? You're kidding right? Roger, tell me you're kidding!" Roger continued to sit there as if he had to devote all his concentration just to remembering to breathe. "What happened? I'm going to get a doctor..." Mark started to stand but Roger grabbed him by his shirt and sat him back down.  
  
"It won't make a difference. Didn't you hear me?" Roger stammered, "She's dead, she fucking killed herself!" His face started to turn a brilliant scarlet as if he was doing everything in his power not to cry. He turned away and started picking at some of the tinsel on the cheap plastic tree beside him.  
  
"Oh my God..." Mark whispered. "But not April, she..."  
  
"I know," Roger interrupted, "she slit her wrists in the fucking bathroom."  
  
"But why?" Mark continued to shake his head as if it wasn't real.  
  
Roger paused. He knew why...the note she left had been quite clear. "I don't know," he uttered, "I guess we'll never know." He unconsciously started scratching the taped cotton ball on his upper forearm.  
  
"What's that?" Mark inquired.  
  
"Oh, this?" Roger stopped and rolled his sleeve down. "Umm...they had me...umm...I donated blood..." He lied.  
  
"Maybe I should do that too," Mark suggested.  
  
"No, don't worry about it. I need to go home...I don't want to go back there...I can't live there anymore."  
  
"I'll go with you if you want. Just let me call the loft." 


	10. 1994: How Did We Get Here?

************************  
  
January 1994: Voice Mail 6  
  
************************  
  
It's the machine. You know what to do. *BEEP*  
  
"Hello Mr. Davis. We wanted to inform you that your results for your blood test are in. Please call Dr. White at 338-4322 on Monday between 3:00 and 3:15pm. Thank you."  
  
********************  
  
February 1994: Letter 7  
  
********************  
  
Dear Mom,  
  
Thanks for sending me the pictures of Michael and little Susie. Send Cindy all of my love. I wish I could've been at the hospital for Susan's arrival but things have been a little difficult around here since April's passing. I guess you understand. Collins thinks that a new baby is just the thing to raise our spirits. I think we're all just dealing with it in our own way.  
  
I invited Roger to move in with us. It seemed like the generous thing to do. Benny's been acting kind of weird lately, especially around Roger. At times I think he says things just to intentionally piss him off, no matter what damage it may do to anyone else present. He thinks I don't notice, but I do. He refuses to admit it but I think he and Roger have a lot more in common then he'd care to acknowledge. Maybe that's why I seem to be getting along with Roger so well - It's kind of like how Benny used to be. I think it could do them both a lot of good to talk to each other. April would've wanted it that way. But no matter what I say, both of them seem tenaciously resistant. Hopefully it will all turn out okay in the end.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
***********  
  
Reality Bites  
  
***********  
  
"What should we put on the answering machine this time?" Collins picked up the gadget and turned to Mark. Because of the never-ending changing situation of roommates, the machine was due for another update.  
  
Mark didn't even look up and instead continued reading over a page of one of his screenplays from the pile that had grown significantly over the years. With a sigh in a monotone voice verbatim from memory he uttered, "At the beep, please leave your name, number and a brief justification of the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma and we'll get back to you."  
  
"Geez man, how many times have you seen that movie? It only came out a week ago."  
  
"Well it's just so quotable. `The Big Gulp' is the most profound invention of our generation. It's symbolic."  
  
"You watch way too many movies." Collins gestured to the collection of used videocassettes piled up across the wall. Mark could be a regular Blockbuster rep if he wanted to.  
  
"Yes, well they keep me sane." Mark continued scribbling away at the paper in front of him, continually writing and then crossing out and then writing some more. If there was one thing Mark was dedicated to, it was his work. Collins didn't quite understand it, but it was just the way things were. 


	11. 1994: Must Be Nice to Have Money

***************  
  
April 1994: Why?  
  
***************  
  
He killed her. I don't believe it. I don't care what Mark says. It's his fault. It has to be his fault. Something he did. Something he said. Girls like April just don't go around killing themselves. Mark insists that she was the one with the problems. That it was her choice. That Roger couldn't have done anything about it. Since when did Mark stop taking my side? We used to be so close, what happened? I can never get over it. When we get angry at each other it's just like we're back on the playground. But I guess Mark has that effect on people with his whole Spielbergian/Peter Pan complex. The eternal child. The mama's boy.  
  
I knew Roger was bad news from the start. I just knew it. Felt it. I should've done something. And then Mark let that trash move-in with us. He said it was the humanitarian thing to do since the guy couldn't bear to stay at his own place anymore. Well, I'm putting my foot down. I've put up with him for two months, trying to act all nice and friendly when I can't stand to be in the same room as him. It was always supposed to be Me, Mark, Collins, and April.  
  
Oh, my God, April. Why'd this happen? This wasn't supposed to happen. Why can't we go back to how it was? Shit. If I had it all to do over again, I swear I'd make sure that he could never destroy yours or any other young girl's life again.  
  
I have to move on. She'd want me to move on. It's like that Allen Ginsberg quote she loved so much, `Light a candle, and continue the dance.'  
  
***********  
  
Voice Mail 7  
  
***********  
  
Mark, Maureen, Benny, and Collins aren't here. Leave a message. *BEEP*  
  
"Mr. Coffin, this is your landlord Mr. Grey. I've been reviewing the proposal you sent me. I think we should meet sometime and go over it. Call my secretary at 827-2853 and set up an appointment."  
  
**********************  
  
May 1994: Moving On Up  
  
**********************  
  
"Wow, this is really high-class." Mark peered around the apartment. Newly painted white walls. Parquet wood floors. Spanish tile. It was like something out of a magazine - one of the finest apartments that the East Village had to offer.  
  
"Yeah, can you believe this?" I crossed my arms and smiled an accomplished grin. I finally was getting to show off the fruits of my labor. Besides, Mark and I hadn't been spending nearly as much time together as we used to. It was nice that he finally had the time to come visit my new place.  
  
"I can't believe you can afford this."  
  
I could afford it. I had been saving for some time. And if everything went as planned, things could only get better. "Well, work's been good. I'm moving up in the world."  
  
Mark gazed into the bathroom. "Must be nice to have the shower where it belongs."  
  
"It is. No more leaky ceilings or faucets. And there's carpeting in the bedroom and heat and..." Mark let out a sigh.  
  
"Hey man, it's only temporary," I offered, "You'll have this too someday. I'll tell you what, one of these days I'm going to buy our old apartment building and we'll build that studio I used to talk about in college. You and me. Coffin and Cohen. Or better yet, Cohen and Coffin. You'll see..." I meant it. I had a meeting with our landlord Mr. Grey and the man really seemed to like some of my ideas. He had offered me a job and even introduced me to his family. My - our dream was within reach. I could turn that boy's life around...if only he'd let me. 


	12. 1994: Maybe You'll See Why

***********************  
  
November 1994: The Storm  
  
***********************  
  
"I'm getting married."  
  
"What?" Mark turned his head and looked at me in disbelief.  
  
"I'm getting married. Alison and I. The wedding's in Westport near her parents' place. It's about an hour drive from here. I'll pay the cab fee. I want you to be there."  
  
"I don't know. I have to take care of Roger."  
  
"Roger? All you do is worry about Roger now. Get over it." Mark looked troubled. The two of them had another talk or fight or something. Just another reason for me to be glad that I got out when I did. I couldn't understand it. He spent more time worrying about Roger then he did Maureen and Maureen's his girlfriend. Maybe it's because he finally found someone more pathetic then him. If he didn't wake up he was going to lose her.  
  
"Well he lost someone close to him..."  
  
"We all lost someone close, Mark. She was my girlfriend before she was his, remember? She was our roommate. Our friend. Or did you forget that? Christ, Mark, I never even saw you cry." Come to think of it, I never did either. I just got angry. But Mark didn't catch my mistake so I kept on going... "It was always, poor, weak, little Roger, let out your feelings Roger, we understand..."  
  
"Well it was different for him. We didn't find her. He feels responsible."  
  
"Well he should feel responsible." I tried to regain my composure.  
  
"Stop saying that. You're always saying that." There was something he wasn't telling me. I could see it.  
  
"Maybe because it's true."  
  
"Our friend?" Mark chuckled sadistically. "You don't even know what friendship is."  
  
"Oh don't I?" I couldn't let him win. "And who's the one who took care of you so many years? The one who's put up with your slacker existence?" I walked to the door and placed my hand on the knob. It had become routine for the two of us. I'd come over and he'd find some way to get angry at me, ending with me walking out the door. Let out all your pent up anger on Benny. I had turned into his punching bag. I didn't know why I bothered anymore.  
  
"Yes, you're such the savior." I winced at his remark. "You won't let me forget that, will you? The truth comes out. Just pull it out of the bag." Mark knew how to get to me. He had a bag of his own. "I'll tell you what you really are," he raised his voice. "You're a sell-out! You sold out to your friends, your dreams...your father."  
  
"Don't bring my father into this." I turned the doorknob.  
  
"Well what do you expect? You're turning into him. Always the mogul, aren't you? Always what you want. Your plan. Who cares about anybody else!"  
  
"I didn't sell out. I bought in. You remember that Mark." I was posed to make my dramatic exit. The door was open and the stairway was right in front of me.  
  
"He's dying."  
  
That was it. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What?" I turned and looked Mark right in the eyes. Unflinching, he spoke.  
  
"He has A.I.D.S."  
  
"Well that never stopped Collins." Mark's eyes widened. He didn't know? He had to have known.  
  
"Well Collins didn't find out by waking up to find his girlfriend bleeding in the bathroom." Mark's eyes lost my gaze and darted haphazardly around the room. Who knew what was running through his head. "She left a note. That's why she killed herself, Benny. She was the weak one."  
  
Shutting the door behind me, I walked back into the room and sat down on the couch. "No, I don't believe you. How do you know this?"  
  
"He told me. One night when he had had way too much to drink he broke down and told me everything. She had problems. They both did. It was the whole drug scene. They got lost."  
  
I shook my head in disbelief. I could feel my heart caving in on me. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"  
  
"How could I? You're never here anymore! You're always off on business or shacking up with Alison in your plushy apartment in the sky. It's like you don't care about us."  
  
What does he know about caring? Numb. That's how we all are. It's too hard to feel anymore. Just going through the motions. I stood up and walked towards the door.  
  
"I'll send you the invitation in the mail." I opened the door only to find myself face to face with the living embodiment of all our troubles. Roger. I slid past him sans a word and headed down the stairs without looking back.  
  
****************  
  
Our Own Mortality  
  
****************  
  
Fuck.  
  
That wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to find myself actually feeling sorry for the guy. In fact, I shouldn't feel sorry. Mark said drugs. He probably got her started on them. I mean, it was his kind of scene - the bar, the music. That's what musicians do, right? But then again she always was the flower girl. She probably didn't take too much convincing. Hell for all I know she was using back when I first met her. They say that that doctor, what's his name? Halsted? Well, he was one of the founders of John Hopkins University. Brilliant man. Well he was a morphine addict the whole time and was a renowned surgeon just the same. Heroin's a derivative of morphine. You see what kind of fun facts you pick up in college? Addicts don't necessarily use to get high. They use just to feel normal. But what is "normal" anymore anyway?  
  
So it was lies. All lies. She used to preach to me about living my dreams. About living life. But then again mortality was never a factor in her ideals. She acted as if she had her whole life ahead of her and nothing and no one could stand in her way. That was her pitfall. She couldn't accept it when it was all taken away. Then again, I could spend all my time figuring out as many different reasons for why but I'll never really know her motivations behind it. It's not worth it. She's gone. That's the fact. She left us. And we're still here. We're the one's living. We're the ones who still have our lives ahead of us. I'm getting married in a few weeks. This is my life. I should start appreciating it. God, I've got to go get tested... 


	13. 1994: His Girlfriend April Left a Note

**********************  
  
December 1994: Haunted  
  
**********************  
  
He lay curled up in a tight ball on his bed, staring across from him to where a friendly face used to lie and smile back. He remembered losing himself completely in those brown eyes, watching them flutter until she fell asleep. The sound of her breathing. The warmth of the body beside him. The little things that now seemed like nothing more then a dream, a fading dream, one he was desperate to hold on to. At first all he wanted to do was forget. Her smell. Her taste. The same trivial things that drove him crazy had brought on an entirely new insanity once she was gone. It had been a year. A year of trying to forget. A year of going through the motions. A year of denial. A year of balancing his life on the edge of a knife. But he had been cut. Hard. Deep. And those were the kind of scars that didn't go away. He had to convince everyone that he was all right, most of all himself. He had gone to work. He had gone to band practice. Routine was good. It was the one thing he could  
cling to. As long as he kept himself busy, he could forget. But it wasn't that simple. Nothing's ever that simple. He could feel his control slipping out of his fingers with every strum of his guitar.  
  
His guitar. He used to drive her crazy with that instrument, plucking away at it off into the early hours of the morning. One time she took it from him saying that she wanted to understand why playing it made him so happy. He swung around behind her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her tiny shoulders, and with one graceful sweep, placed her fingers on a chord. She fretted it, only to withdraw her hand, wincing from the strain on her tender, soft hands...not rough and callused as his were from years of practice. He took her palm and kissed her fingertips lightly with a smile. It was excellent foreplay at the time, but now an isolated memory of a time when he was truly happy.  
  
It's amazing how forgiving one can become when someone passes. All the domestic fights and disagreements seemed to fade behind the smiles and laughter. The annoying little quirks became endearing and all the more precious. He had forgotten so much, but it's remarkable how the mind can play such cruel tricks on you. The seasons change and suddenly it all comes rushing back. But there was one recollection above all he wished he could forget. His memories would always begin so sweetly but somehow turn so sour. It was like a bad dream, the kind that appeared every time you closed your eyes for too long. A black and white movie set in continuous loop at the back of his mind. Every time he turned the knob of the bathroom door he would pause, as if instinctively afraid of what lay behind it. Every time he woke up in the morning and brushed his hand over the empty pillow beside him. Cold. It was always cold now. Not like that one time when he could still feel the faint remnant of  
warmth across it and smell the saturation of her sweet perfume. If he had woken up just a little sooner... He hadn't thought anything of it. He remembered her sitting at the edge of the bed for he didn't know how long. "Come back to bed," he had begged in a half awake stupor. Again, it didn't shake him when minutes later he heard her drawing a bath in the room next door. He had been floundering in and out of sleep. It all was like a dream to him, somewhere between asleep and awake. But little did he know what nightmare lay ahead. It had gone silent and he rolled back over to find himself alone. He remembered opening the door slowly and calling her name with no reply. The tile floor was cold on the bottoms of his feet and there was an unsettling stillness in the room. He remembered standing in the doorway of the small room only an instant in reality, but what seemed like an eternity in his heart. The toilet on the right. The sink on the left. The bathtub directly in front of  
him. The curtain closed. Everything as it usually was. Quiet, except for a resonating drip coming from the bathtub. Drip...drip...drip...louder and louder against the almost eerie silence. He entered the room as if some otherworldly force had the better of him and drew him in against his will. Something didn't feel right. He found her robe folded neatly on the toilet seat with her slippers tucked at the base. "April?" he called again as he moved closer to the bathtub. Drip...drip...drip... He reached forward and drew back the curtain... Red. Red water enveloped the small frame in the tub. Stark red against the porcelain skin of her body, soaked up in her nightgown, she lay like a floating Ophelia. He was going to be sick. In a desperate panic he ran to the sink, heaving and coughing. And that's when he saw it. The note. Scrawled across the mirror so elegantly before him with the word `A.I.D.S.' so poignantly reflected across his forehead. The world began moving in slow  
motion all to the soundtrack of the monotonous beating of his increasing heart. Unsure of what to do, he ran to the phone. "Hello? We need help..." Name...Address...Emergency... He heard something move. Dropping the receiver, he ran back to the bathroom. She was alive...barely... Without a thought he bound into the bloodstained water taking her up in his arms, clutching her wrists in his hands. The heat of the salty tears ran burning down his cheeks as he rocked her in his final embrace. He couldn't recall how long they stayed intertwined like that before the sound of sirens came and he found himself being torn away from her. He was still high on something. Everything seemed all the more magnified yet hazy just the same. A dream...just a dream... The ambulance ride. The doctor. The counselor. He didn't even move when they questioned him, took a sample of his blood... The truth... All just a dream.  
  
He reached out and stroked the pillow beside him. "Mr. Davis, is there someone you could call?" Call... Mark was just in the other room. He hadn't left for the wedding yet. But he couldn't talk to him. He always tried to be sympathetic and all the `sorries' only made him feel worse. It was easier not to talk. It was easier just to leave. He had been leaving. For the past few weeks, he kept finding himself in bars on the other side of the counter. Or in an alley using the majority of his paycheck to feed his ever-increasing addiction. It wasn't so easy to get a rush anymore. He had to increase his dosages and even that wasn't enough. He was at the point where he purposely had to go through withdrawal just to feel again the next time he shot up. If he had overdosed two years ago when he first started using, none of this would've happened. His life had begun a sharp downward turn and he didn't even notice, least of all care. Anything to kill the guilt, the `what if's', the  
loss, the reality of the situation. Her glazed over eyes staring back at him. Wherever he went, he felt those eyes. He had been missing a lot of work lately. But he didn't care anymore. As long as he still had his band...  
  
***********  
  
Voice Mail 8  
  
***********  
  
Hey, you've reached Collins, Mark, Maureen, and Roger's humble abode. Leave us a message and we'll get back to you. *BEEP*  
  
"Hey man, listen, me and the guys have been talking and we think it's in the band's best interest to let you go. No hard feelings or anything. See you around." 


	14. 1995: Not Denying Emotion

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January 1995: Letter 8  
  
*******************  
  
Dear Mom,  
  
So Benny got married. But I guess you probably already knew that. Alison seems to be what he needs now. Someone steady and dependable. She's a bit upper class for me and Roger though. Roger keeps insisting on calling her "Muffy" because he says she reminds him of one of those preppy girls from the movies. Benny hates it. But Roger does have a point. You should've seen her parents' house. It's one of those large fancy estate places, completely decked-out for Christmas like those kinds you see in the commercials and the made-for-TV movies. The visit wasn't so much fun though to say as it was...educational.  
  
Benny and I had a good long talk before the wedding. We mostly talked about what happened to April. I guess he just needed a "why" for closure. We'll see what this year brings.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
***********  
  
Voice Mail 9  
  
***********  
  
Hey, we're not in right now. Leave a message and we'll call you back as soon as possible. Thanks. *BEEP*  
  
"Roger, it's Dave. This is the last time you leave me without a bartender. Don't bother coming in next week. You're fired!"  
  
******  
  
Golden  
  
******  
  
"Where's Roger? Work?" Mark continued to stare off at the floor. Since the minute I arrived there he had been acting cold and refused to make eye contact. I didn't get it. It couldn't have been Collins - he spent most of the time during the day working while Mark and Roger puttered around the apartment. Maybe it was Maureen. She was always stressing him out in some shape or form. What did they all do here all day anyway?  
  
"I don't know. He lost his job a few weeks ago. He goes out. Sometimes we don't see him for days at a time. Maybe it's finally catching up to him. For months he'd been acting like everything was fine, but then recently he started this whole downward spiral..." Mark glanced over at an old, beat-up guitar case in the corner amongst the papers, books, and videos. It looked like it had been gathering dust for weeks. "Maybe it was the holidays that did it. Collins thinks that it brought back memories of..."  
  
"Oh, well it doesn't matter." If I didn't interrupt him he was going to get into another one of his long talks about the woe that is Roger and I've heard it all before. I had more important and much happier tidings. "I've got the best news for you Mark."  
  
"What? You won the lottery?" Mark was being sarcastic. Why didn't he sound very excited?  
  
"Well yes and no. I bought the building."  
  
"The building? Wait, this building?" Finally I had the boy's attention.  
  
"Yes, just like I said I would..."  
  
"Wait, so that would make you our landlord?" Mark started to laugh discreetly. I didn't think he'd be laughing, but he was smiling and that was enough for me.  
  
"Yes, for now, until I get them to approve my proposal to build my cyber studio. Until then, you're set. No more rent for now. My gift to you." A wide grin spread across my face. I took a deep breath. This could make up for all the shit I've gone through. It finally seemed within my grasp. The one thing I could thank my father for was he having me get that business degree.  
  
"I can't believe you did it. You really did it, didn't you?"  
  
"We did it." It was in the bag. Mark could produce his films and even Roger could write his music. I didn't care who did what just as long as I had this. "So now you can finally finish those screenplays of yours and do some real work."  
  
"I do real work."  
  
I responded under my breath, "Okay Mark, whatever you say..." He didn't get it, did he? He'd always start something and never see it through. That's just how he was. Don't know if it was because he was insecure or a perfectionist or what, but it was about time he grew up and stopped acting like he was still in high school.  
  
"No, I do." Shit, I got him started. I always say the wrong thing. I started walking towards the door. Mark looked at the floor and sighed, "Or maybe you're right." Oh, good he stopped... "I'm like a chicken with its head cut off. The end is inevitable but I keep running around, dragging it out...it's pointless..." Shit, he's going to start again. I could tell by his awful attempt to be poetically poignant. I looked down at the doorknob, my escape route.  
  
"Bye Mark. I'll catch you later. Say `hi' to Collins for me." I walked out the door and closed it slowly behind me. Freedom...  
  
Back in the loft, Mark picked up his camera. "It's pointless...But I keep writing, I keep working on my films. Why? Because it's my life. That's what he doesn't understand. They all think it's some foolish hobby that I'll grow out of. No. It's how I cope. It's easier to project your problems, your fears, your insecurities, your failures onto some fictional character who will never have to face the world like you do everyday. It's escaping into a movie for two and a half hours so you forget about the groceries that need to be bought, the loans that need to be paid-off, the people around you who smile and act supportive when deep down they think that you're wasting your life, the voice in your head that keeps insisting that what they say is true... Because without my films I am nothing. I'm tired of basing my self-worth on a grade on a report card or an amount of a paycheck. I'm tired of the fact that I'll always be nothing more then a statistic despite anything I do. That's  
the reality. So what do we do? We dive into our work, we take `The Road Not Taken', we scream at the top of our lungs thinking that we're alone, but we're not. And that's the real irony of life. That we know all this, yet we keep on living..."  
  
"What are you doing?" Roger's gruff voice interrupted Mark's tirade.  
  
"Nothing." Mark turned off his camera. "Benny stopped by. He bought the building. Says we're golden."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Roger stormed off to his room and slammed the door behind him. Picking up his camera, Mark sighed as he pulled out the film and tossed it into a corner, replacing it with a new reel. He'd go film people in the park or something. Birds. Trees. Anything to forget...  
  
****************  
  
May 1995: Letter 9  
  
****************  
  
Dear Collins,  
  
I hope your little excursion in Massachusetts is going well. At least you're settled now so I can mail you. Benny still hasn't brought up any of what was said by him and his father-in-law at the wedding. I know it was months ago but it's still on my mind. Maybe he doesn't know we heard him. Or maybe he just wants to pretend it never happened. I don't know. "It will be better in the long run" my ass. I just don't think that he's ever betrayed my trust to that extent. We have had fights before where he's said things, but I always felt they were more heat-of-the-moment comments, that he didn't really mean them. Like me. I guess I shouldn't take it at face value like you said...but it's just so hard to forget it. Everyone deserves another chance. But it's so hard...I mean, why'd he even invite us? The looks. The stares. The behind-our-back comments. For all I know, he planned it. Every time I see him or talk to him now it's in the back of my mind. At least I know now what he  
really thinks of us. I had to do everything in my power to keep Maureen from making a scene. If Roger had come, I don't know how I would've controlled him.  
  
Speaking of Roger, he's no longer going out like he used to. I don't know if it's a good thing or not. At least before when he used to stay out all night I didn't have to deal with him when he wasn't, well, himself. But now, he's spending all of his time here. It was ever since this one night about a week ago right after you left that he came back from one of those clubs he goes to, raving like a mad man that he had seen April. I don't know if it was the drugs or the alcohol talking, but something possessed him that night and he literally looked like he had seen a ghost. Since then he keeps saying that he can't go out there and that he's got to get clean. He's become worse and worse since he lost his band, and then his job, and then started wasting all his time at bars or clubs or on the street or God knows where. You know, you were here. I'm scared, because he's my friend and all, but I don't know if I can deal with him like this. But I'm going to try. Don't worry about us.  
I'll get us through this.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark 


	15. 1995: Friendship is Thicker Than Blood

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June 1995: Voice Mail 10  
  
**********************  
  
Hello, you've reached the Coffin residence. You can try reaching Benjamin on his cell at 372-8462. *BEEP*  
  
"Hi Benny. It's Mark. We need to talk. It's about Roger. He's having problems and I don't know what to do. I think he needs to be checked into a clinic or something but he refuses to leave the apartment. Call me!"  
  
*************************  
  
Voice Mail 11/Another Chance  
  
*************************  
  
SPEAK! *BEEP*  
  
"Hi Mark, what's the deal man? I'm kind of busy right now with..." The phone's picked up.  
  
"Benny! Thank goodness. I need your help." Mark cupped the receiver in his hands.  
  
"With what? You don't need money, do you? I already put off collecting rent from you guys; that should be a big enough favor. Speaking of rent, I think we need to talk about that."  
  
"I don't think this is the time."  
  
"Okay fine, what's wrong? Why are you whispering anyway?"  
  
"It's Roger. He's going crazy. He keeps trying to quit cold turkey, but then starts using again. It's a viscous cycle. I mean, I read in a pamphlet that withdrawal should only take like a week, but he never quite makes it that far. He was hiding stuff so I thought I'd help him, so I took it and flushed it, and now..."  
  
"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT IT???"  
  
"What was that? Mark, what's going on?"  
  
"You know those movies like `Rush' and `Drugstore Cowboy'..."  
  
"Uh huh. You know, I didn't call you for a rental suggestion..."  
  
"Well, the real deal seems a lot worse."  
  
"So what am I supposed to do about it? Can't you get Collins to help you?"  
  
"Mark? MARK?!?!"  
  
"Collins isn't here! He left for M.I.T. last month. Benny..."  
  
"What about Maureen?"  
  
"Maureen? She's freaked! She's been staying at a friend's place."  
  
"Well, how about your parents then? They fix all your problems, don't they?"  
  
"I can't call them! I told them that April killed herself but I never told them she and Roger were drug addicts! You know what they'd do if they knew I was living with a junkie???"  
  
"Well what am I supposed to do? You can't make the guy go anywhere if he doesn't want to! I'm in the middle of an important business deal. There's a lot of money riding on this. Listen, I've got to go...I have another call..."  
  
"But Benny, I..." *click*  
  
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Mark slammed the receiver. He hated phones. What was he going to do? He picked up one of the pamphlets he got from the clinic. "Withdrawal...withdrawal..."  
  
"Withdrawal may occur within a few hours after the last time the drug is taken. Symptoms of withdrawal include restlessness, muscle and bone pain, insomnia, diarrhea, vomiting, cold flashes with goose bumps ("cold turkey"), and leg movements. Major withdrawal symptoms peak between 24 and 48 hours after the last dose of heroin and subside after about a week."  
  
That's where he had stopped before the phone interrupted him.  
  
"However, some people have shown persistent withdrawal signs for many months." www.heroin-information.org  
  
"Many months? Fuck that!"  
  
"Fuck what?" Roger's voice.  
  
Mark turned to face Roger's silhouette in the doorway. "Uh, nothing." He tucked the paper into the back of his pants. It was going to be a long night.  
  
**********  
  
Hanging Up  
  
**********  
  
So I hung up on him. What was I supposed to do? Roger's not my problem. And it's not like I lied, I do have important business to attend to.  
  
Besides, he'll just call mommy and daddy and they'll fix the whole mess for him. You know, he still writes to her. Probably just does it to keep from having to actually talk to her on the phone because then she goes on and on and on... I guess it's his way of avoiding to actually have a conversation. Heaven forbid she could talk some sense into him. Then again, he was always one of those kids that really got along with his parents growing up. My parents on the other hand, are a different story. It was weird because while most kids were doing that whole rebellion thing and experimentation bit, Mark pretty much stayed the same. And he told his mother everything. Well, almost everything. How on earth can a boy's best friend be his mother? Just hope he doesn't go all `Norman Bates' or something. 


	16. 1995: The Whiff of a Scheme

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August 1995: Voice Mail 12  
  
************************  
  
SPEAK! *BEEP*  
  
"Hey guys, it's Benny, remember me? Anyway, I'm sorry but there's this issue with the rent. I need to talk to you. Call me."  
  
********  
  
Letter 10  
  
********  
  
Dear Mom,  
  
I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. Roger's been sick. But don't worry; I've been taking care of him. Other then that, not much has been going on here. Just thought I'd send you an update so you'd stop having to call.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
************  
  
Voice Mail 13  
  
************  
  
SPEAK! *BEEP*  
  
"Dude, it's Benny again. You haven't called me. We need to talk. My phone number's 372-8462. Use it."  
  
*************************  
  
September 1995: Living Alive  
  
*************************  
  
April's alive.  
  
Well, not really. But there's this girl that's living in my Avenue B building that reminds me of her. She's been a tenant for a while and there was always something about her that I could never quite put my finger on. It wasn't so much how she looked exactly, but when she smiled... Yes, I know I'm married, but I can't get over it. It's been two years since she died but everything seems to come rushing back to me when I'm around that girl. Her smell. Her taste. Her spirit. God, I miss her. It was one of the one times in my life that I truly felt alive. I want that high again. I haven't felt that way for years. Alison would kill me if she knew and I don't want to hurt her. I don't mean to hurt her. I mean, Alison's everything that a man could ask for. She's beautiful and smart and funny... But then again, statistically aren't the majority of men who have affairs, the ones who are happily married? I need to see her again.  
  
I just want to see her smile. 


	17. 1995: Death Won't Be in Vain

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November 1995: Voice Mail 14  
  
**************************  
  
SPEAK! *BEEP*  
  
"You know, you can't just not answer the phone and pretend you're not there. I'm the landlord. I'm not stupid."  
  
***********  
  
Visits to You  
  
***********  
  
It was early afternoon. He had stayed in bed all morning and ignored all urges to eat. Better just to go back to bed then get up and face another day. He closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, not even aware of when he did. He opened his eyes. In the corner of the room sat a girl running her hand lightly across the strings of his guitar that lay propped in the corner. He couldn't even remember how it got there. Mark must have moved it. "I want to hear you play again," she spoke softly.  
  
"You know I don't anymore," he replied.  
  
"Write me a song." Her eyes looked at him longingly as she continued brushing the instrument with her fingers, yet producing no sound.  
  
"You know I'm no good at writing music. That was Jonathan's thing. And I'm not in the band anymore so it doesn't matter anyway." He rolled over and faced the other wall only to find her standing on the other side.  
  
"You can do it," she smiled, "I always believed in you."  
  
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "You did, didn't you? Said I'd make my mark on the world before I was through."  
  
"Promise me you'll make something of your life, Roger. Promise me you'll be happy."  
  
He sighed. "I promise Ap..." He sat up to find himself alone.  
  
********  
  
Letter 11  
  
********  
  
Dear Mom,  
  
So your little boy is single again. Maureen and I broke-up. It wasn't too messy or anything. I guess we both kind of saw it coming. She said she felt that we weren't really talking anymore. At least not how we used to before in the diner. Funny since I always thought that those talks basically consisted of her complaining about her job or her old boyfriends or her career for that matter and me nodding my head. Anyway, she found someone new, and I...well, I still have my camera. It wouldn't have been so bad except that she left me for another women. Now, I didn't see that one coming. It is the nineties I guess.  
  
I hope everyone's doing well back in Scarsdale. Roger's been talking about getting back to his music as of late. Maybe it's a way to break up the monotony of doing, well, nothing. I had moved his guitar back into his room thinking that maybe he just needed a little incentive to get himself out of his funk. I just think this time of year brings back too many bad memories for him. We're probably going to skip the holidays.  
  
Love,  
  
Mark  
  
**************************  
  
December 1995: Voice Mail 15  
  
**************************  
  
SPEAK! *BEEP*  
  
"Mark, I know your whole deal with screening your calls and this really isn't funny anymore. I'm giving you all a week and then I'm coming over there. It doesn't have to be like this..." 


	18. December 24, 1995: They Burn the Past to...

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December 24, 1995: The Last Word  
  
******************************  
  
I've worked so hard to get where I am today.  
  
I've gone through shit. I've put up with shit. And I'm tired of turning on the television each night and seeing some strung-out high school dropout who's making millions of dollars and adored by the country with little talent and just a pretty face. They'll make more money in a year then most hard-working people will make in their entire lifetime. It's crap.  
  
Maureen's planning a protest tonight. Everything she does is always in self-interest. So, it'll have to be the same for me.  
  
I worked my way through college. I made the grades to get where I am. I studied my ass off while Mark lounged around the apartment leeching off his parents while he devoted himself to his "project". It's always the artists that everyone loves. The movie star. The pop singer. All the girls swoon over the rock star...the pretty boy...  
  
Control.  
  
I'll use my authority against them. I'm the landlord. It's my right. I'll get Mark to stop her so I don't look bad in front of Alison's father...my father. I have to prove that I can handle the responsibility. They just don't know the pressure I'm under right now. It's not so much that I'm betraying our friendship; so much as I'm manipulating it. It's not like they really have to give me the money anymore anyway. I covered for them when Alison's father asked about it. I paid out of my own pocket and for what? For them. And Mark says that I don't know what friendship is. He has no idea. Rent is just a red herring. To get what I want. To make the family happy. It's a test. Just another test. I can handle tests...  
  
I have a stable marriage. A good paycheck. Food on my table. Electricity. Heat. I own my own property and I have a right to do with it as I please. I am exactly what makes up this damn country. The working man. And now they're all trying to take that away from me. They keep twisting it like I'm wrong. Like they're so much better then me. I never wanted to be the prick my father was, but it may just turn out that way. I guess it's like they say, "like father, like son".  
  
Maybe Mark was right. Roger and I do have something in common after all. But it isn't what he thinks. It's that we both hate the blood that flows through our veins.  
  
I pick up my cell phone and dial. 


End file.
